


So Wrong But Feels So Right

by HappyStony



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Anyways, F/M, I like to write in spurts, Identity Porn, Kinda, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Unresolved Sexual Tension, and it's not really like that trope anyway, but he looks young, but neither of them acknowledge it, ended up being like twenty times, my writing is weird, old steve, steve was never frozen, tony growing up with Steve, tried the five times trope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-02-14 16:09:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13011381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HappyStony/pseuds/HappyStony
Summary: Steve looks down at Anthony again, and this time the baby’s eyes are closed, fast asleep. Peggy offers to hold the newborn for him. Steve almost rejects, but he eventually hands him over, and nods his head.“Yeah,” Steve says, eyeing Peggy and then facing Howard. “Just like his father.”Basically going down memory lane where moments of Steve's life are briefly revealed from the moment after WWII ends, up until he and Tony realize they are meant for one another.





	So Wrong But Feels So Right

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all. Here I am with another story. I'm a terrible human being because I have two other stories in dire need of another chapter and yet here I am...
> 
> So I guess my writing is kind of weird and I have this thing where I have to write in moments of time. Idk why it just slips out. 
> 
> Also, yeah, Steve's old. Like really flipping old, but for some reason I've always had a thing for Tony growing up with Steve and them falling in love. 
> 
> Anyway, hopefully someone enjoys this. 
> 
> Happy reading!

14:

“...Des yeux qui font baisser les miens, un rire qui se perd sur sa bouche...voilà le portrait sans retouche de l'homme auquel j'appartiens…”

The lull of the woman’s voice makes it easy to dance. He doesn't know how to, but he sways, slowly, right to left, right to left, right to left.

“...Quand il me prend dans ses bras il me parle tout bas je vois la vie en rose…”

Peggy smiles from in front of him, her smile soft, but he can tell when someone’s making fun of him, so he pulls her in closer, leaning into her. He takes a moment to breathe her in, and then he lightly laughs into her ear.

“What?” He asks softly, his hand carefully placed just above her waist. She finally lets out an amused huff.

“Your dancing,” She says, in that beautiful English accent of hers. She leans in a little closer afterward. “And that you have no idea what Édith is saying, and yet you’re still trying to mouth the words.”

Steve grins, pulling away in surprise. He searches Peggy’s face; her classic red lips, rosy cheeks and dark eyes. He falls in love all over again, and leans in close, a smile softening.

“Can I kiss you?” He whispers, his eyes never leaving hers. She looks away and giggles.

“Of course,” she says, a bit exasperatedly, sure, but it’s gone when Steve closes the gap and presses his lips against hers.

“...Il est entré dans mon cœur une part de bonheur dont je connais la cause…”

~~~  
13:

Three months. Steve shakes his head, trying his best not to get angry. At her, at God, maybe even himself. Three months. Wasted.

“Steve,” someone says, from a distance. It's cautious, almost afraid, but not exactly. Peggy isn’t afraid of anyone.

Steve shakes his head again, hands digging into his hair. Three months. God lead them on. He made them believe; made them happy, and now it’s just gone. Why? Why does this happen? Is there a point to all this?

“Steve,” they say again. It’s Peggy, isn’t it? She should be mourning. She should still be in the bathroom, crying her eyes out. Steve’s crying. He’s still crying, but the tears stopped a while ago.

There’s footsteps. Not the usual click of heels, just bare feet on a wooden floor. She should be wearing socks. She could get a cold. It can hurt the baby.

“Steve,” they try again, and this time there’s a hand on his back, rubbing softly.

Three months. That’s all they were given.

~~~  
12:

Anthony's eyes are so wide; so innocent. It’s surprising that he's not crying, let alone awake. The baby is holding Steve’s finger tightly, his eyes boring into Steve’s soul.

He's barely a week old.

Peggy smiles from next to him, peering over to smile at Anthony. Steve turns a bit to give her better access, and she coos. Anthony’s eyes move towards her, blinking twice in wonder—or maybe because he has to.

“Ah,” Howard says, walking into the room. Maria is still getting the tea prepared for all of them, but she looks up and listens when Howard continues. “I see you’ve already met my heir to the throne. Attractive, isn’t he? Just like his father?” Howard jokes, and he looks at Maria as he laughs.

Maria smiles and gets back to making their tea.

Steve looks down at Anthony again, and this time the baby’s eyes are closed, fast asleep. Peggy offers to hold the newborn for him. Steve almost rejects, but he eventually hands him over and nods his head.

“Yeah,” Steve says, eyeing Peggy and then facing Howard. “Just like his father.”

~~~  
11:

Anthony’s five now. It's been years since he’s seen him, but he and Peggy decided to live in Britain, closer to her family. It was better off that way because they didn’t have much in the States to begin with; just painful reminders of the War and what could have been. But now they’re visiting, and Steve gets a good look at Howard's kid for the second time.

He's a cute little fella, with curly dark hair and wide, brown eyes. In all honesty, he looks a bit more like his mother than Howard.

Howard snorts. “A little too much like his mother if you ask me. Hopefully he won’t get bullied for that crap. ‘M gonna have to teach him how to be a man.”

Just then Anthony comes over, tugging his mom’s dress. His hair is perfectly styled, and he’s wearing a suit. A bit too much just for a dinner with friends, but what the hell, Steve’s also wearing a suit.

“Ma,” Anthony says, and Maria turns to him with a frown.

“Tony,” she scolds, “what did we talk about acting when guests are over?”

Anthony coils into himself a bit, biting his fingers as he shrugs. Maria scowls and slaps his hand down. Peggy and Steve watch awkwardly.

“Don't bite your nails,” she says sternly, and Anthony nods, his bottom lip wobbling.

“I’m sorry, Ma,” he says quietly, and Howard growls.

“Maria, can you shut that kid up already? We’ve got guests.”

Peggy shakes her head. “No, we really don't mind—”

Howard shakes his head, standing up. Anthony makes a noise from the back of his throat in fear, and Maria holds him close. Steve doesn't get the change in atmosphere at first but notices when Howard stumbles as he tries to walk towards his wife and child.

“No, this isn’t right. The kids gotta learn manners. You hear me, Tony? C’mere. Tony, I said _c’mere_.”

“Howard,” Steve finally intervenes, and the man looks back in puzzlement. “It’s fine, honestly. Come sit down.”

Howard looks at him curiously, as if he’s still trying to figure out what Steve said like there was a hidden meaning underneath it. Then, he furrows his eyebrows and frowns, his lips pursing the tiniest bit, wanting to protest, but luckily a second after he gives it up with a wave of his hand and a disgruntled, “Fuck it. Maria, get the kid out of here. I don't want to see his face right now.”

Maria stands, holding Anthony’s wrist harshly, hissing nonsense at him as they walk back into the house.

Too bad. It felt nice sitting outside, but now it feels cold and awkward. The spark initially there vanished, and Steve isn’t sure if it’s ever coming back.

~~~  
10:

Peggy decides that she wants to work for SHIELD again, so they move back to New York, moving back into the home they thought they’d never see again. Steve doesn’t let it bother him, and he spends most of the time working for SHIELD part-time and visiting Howard when he can.

Tony’s seven now. Two years since he last visited. He hasn’t gotten much taller, but his hair is more unruly than before, even with all the gel slabbed on top of it. He still has chubby cheeks and doesn’t talk much. When he does, however, it’s more of a snap.

“It’s Tony,” Anthony mutters, his eyes downcast and hands folded behind him. He has a suit on, again, probably more expensive than Steve’s wardrobe combined. Steve smiles, despite the attitude.

“Okay, Tony. Didn’t mean to offend,” Steve replies, hands held up, surrendering. Tony looks up at him, skeptically. Steve kneels, hand extended. “You can call me Steve, kiddo.”

Howard clears his throat. “He knows who you are. Don’t be rude, Tony. You remember Steve, don’t you?”

Tony looks at his dad, and he has the same scrutinizing stare as Howard. It’s a bit unnerving, and it’s as if they’re communicating for a second, and then they both look away and Tony shakes his hand. Their eyes meet, but Tony isn’t exactly looking at him.

“Nice to see you again, Steve,” Tony says, attempting to be polite. Howard rolls his eyes and Steve smiles. Tony doesn’t exactly appreciate it, because his hand wrenches away and he quickly looks at his mom, asking permission to go back to his room. Howard humphs but doesn’t say anything.

Maria looks stuck for a second, and then she nods just the slightest.

“Don’t be late for dinner,” She says, and Steve believes it was supposed to come out stern, but it sounds a bit too stiff. Tony nods and runs off.

“Kid spends too much time in there,” Howard mutters, and his face reddens like he’s embarrassed. Steve realizes a second later that he actually _is_. “He doesn’t even do anything worthwhile. He sits there and makes ‘zhe zhi’ for fucks sake. What even is that shit? Have you heard of it?”

Howard turns to Steve expectantly, and Steve shrugs, looking back at Maria. Maria shakes her head, continuing to knit. Howard nods his head.

“Exactly my point! You know what? I'm gonna go talk to him. Boys shouldn’t be doing that shit—whatever the fuck it is.” Howard makes his way towards Tony’s room, and Steve quickly follows, arm reaching out to grab the man's shoulder.

“Hey, Howard—” Steve stops. He can't exactly tell Howard what to do with his kid, but Steve’s face must say what he can’t. Howard shrugs his hand off and purses his lips for a second.

“Fine. You go talk to him then. See what the hell he’s doing with paper and making animals n’ shit. It's a waste of time.” Howard raises his eyebrows when Steve stands there, dumbfounded. “Well? It's the door with the big dumb sign saying ‘Tony’. You can't miss it. Maria? I'm gonna go get a drink.”

Maria hums, rocking herself as she knits some more. Howard leaves, and Steve suddenly wishes he was with Peggy.

He stands there for only a couple more second. He half expects Maria to say something, but she seems content with finishing her scarf. He looks around the mansion, and remembering the vague direction Tony ran off just a few seconds earlier, he heads off.

It doesn't take as long as Steve thought to find Tony’s room. It isn't far in the back of the house; a lot closer to the living room than he expected, although it is on the second floor.

The words on the sign are in attempted cursive. The loop in the ‘o’ is too low, and the swirl in the bottom of the ‘y’ is too long, but it’s cute. And in different colors.

Steve gives an awkward knock, and he hears a sharp intake of breath. He feels bad for a second, and then there's a loud, “Um...who is it?”

Steve hesitates. “Uh, it's Steve, bud. Wanna open up for me?”

It's silent. Then, there's a few thumps and Tony’s opening the door. He looks up at Steve curiously. Steve notices that Tony’s shoes are tied poorly, and his shirt is barely tucked halfway in and the buttons of his jacket are wrong. His hair isn’t much better, and Steve realizes that Tony was probably prepared to be alone for the rest of the day. Tony pulls at his jacket sleeve, self-conscious.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles. “I was just...it's uncomfortable. I don't mean to be sloppy. Are you going to tell my dad?”

Steve opens and closes his mouth. It isn't often that someone leaves him speechless, but Tony sounds so mature. He's only seven.

“I…,” Steve tries to find the right words. “No, no, I’m not—I won’t tell your dad. Can I come in?”

Tony takes a deep breath, thinking. He looks back up at Steve and nods slowly.

“Okay. I don't think I’m allowed to say no,” Tony says honestly, and then he opens his door and backs away. “But I guess you can come in. What do you want?”

Steve laughs, and Tony tilts his head.

“I…” Steve looks around the room, and then he notices the paper. Well, folded paper. No, art. 3-D art. They’re on Tony’s desk, littered around, as if he was just playing around. He focuses on them; the multiple cranes, foxes, flowers. There's butterflies and a deer. There's a cute little elephant and a dog’s face. Steve eventually says something. “Zhe zhi. Is that Zhe zhi?”

“Origami,” Tony says, and he walks over to his masterpieces. Steve follows in fascination. “Zhe zhi is what they call it in China. I have a friend in boarding school who likes to make hats and boats, but I got bored of that, so I kinda went searching around for paper folding. Then I found a Japanese book talking about ‘origami’ and I went off of that. They aren’t good. It’s mostly a waste of time, but homework is really easy and I need something to fill up my time. Are you going to tell dad?”

Steve ignores the last part, walking closer to the desk. He stops right in front of it, and he has to restrain himself from touching it.

“It’s...they’re beautiful,” Steve says. “I've never...even heard of anything like this…”

“Beautiful?” Tony asks, and he stands next to Steve, peering at his own work. He shrugs a second after. “Um. Thank you? Are you going to tell dad?”

Steve shakes his head, and then he smiles as he looks down at Tony. He stuffs his hands in his pockets and gestures toward the little-folded pieces of paper.

“I won't if you teach me.”

Tony’s brow twitches, and then he grins.

~~~  
9:

She stares at herself in the mirror, pulling at various places on her face. She smiles and then smirks. She shows off her teeth, raises her eyebrows. She widens her eyes and then narrows them. She frowns.

“I’m getting old.”

Steve chuckles from behind her, adjusting his necktie. He catches Peggy’s gaze in the mirror and holds it. She looks away a moment later.

“Everyone’s going to think I'm a cougar.”

Steve shakes his head, stepping closer to wrap his hands around her waist. She sighs, leaning back against him. He kisses her cheek.

“You look beautiful to me. And I don't look twenty exactly, so I wouldn't say a cougar. More like a…” he pretends to think, and Peggy slaps his chest. He laughs. “I'm kidding. And it's a gathering with Howard. Everyone's going to know us. Plus,” Steve takes her hand and gives it a kiss. She forces herself not to smile, but her lip still twitches in amusement, “we’re still the hottest couple there is. No matter how old.”

They're at the Stark Mansion thirty minutes later, only forty minutes late, but for a gathering like this, it would have been awkward to come any earlier than that.

They walk in holding hands, and right away a familiar man takes her coat. Peggy smiles charmingly.

“Oh why, thank you, Sir. How can I ever express my gratitude most appropriately for such a kind gesture?”

Jarvis grins. “Only my job, ma’am, but a kiss on the cheek wouldn't hurt.” He leans in, and she gladly pecks him on both cheeks. He steps back to look at Steve. “And who’s this handsome fella? Is he treating you well?” He pretends to give Steve the stink eye, but he breaks character the moment Steve shakes his head in laughter.

“Hey, Steve, how’ve you been?” Jarvis asks, and he gives Steve a firm handshake before taking his jacket. Steve grins, wrapping an arm around Peggy’s waist.

“Great, actually. Haven't been here in awhile. Is Tony home for the holidays?” Steve asks, and Jarvis beams.

“Actually, yes! He decided to visit this time.” Jarvis shakes his head. “Well, not his fault, really.”

Steve nods, and Peggy gushes.

“Oh, I haven't seen that boy in ages! Where is he? I've got to give him a proper Carter hug!” She looks around as if he was somewhere in the crowd of people inside. Jarvis chuckles.

“Most likely in his room. Already tired of people,” Jarvis jokes.

“Well,” Steve intervenes, “he hasn't come for three years. Probably a bit overwhelming.”

Jarvis smiles, lips still closed. “Of course. Anyhow, I've gotta get back to keeping the guests happy. Anything else I can do for you two?”

The couple shakes their heads in unison, and Jarvis gives them one last pleased expression before turning to assist another couple that just walked in. Peggy and Steve quickly get to socializing with the other guests.

About an hour later food is served. All the kids are left in the living room while the adults stay in the dining room, and when Steve turns his head, he notices Tony sitting with the other children. He looks bored, slouched, not even trying to start a conversation. He catches Steve’s eye for a second, and Steve offers a grin, but Tony looks away and gets back to sitting upright and eating.

Steve doesn't let it get to him. Tony’s a little boy, probably embarrassed that one of his Dad’s friends, of all people, are smiling at him. And either way, they aren’t exactly close. The last time Steve talked to the kid was almost three years ago, after his fourth origami lesson. Tony was a great teacher, despite his age. He's an old soul in a young body.

Steve stutters as he takes his spoon out of his soup. It's barely noticeable, thank God, but he sets the spoon down anyway. He thinks for a second and looks back at Tony.

Tony’s finished his food, arms crossed and leaning back to watch the tv screen, but he isn't the least bit entertained. He looks bored, almost like an adult would, but he's only ten.

He isn't an outcast, that's obvious by the way he carries himself. He isn't shy. He just doesn't want to talk to the kids around him, and he understands that it would be considered disrespectful to get up and leave; so he stays, bored, to satisfy others.

He’s ten.

Steve looks away, frowning. He must feel trapped, but he has no choice. He feels bad for the kid. And, unfortunately, Steve understands all too well.

~~~  
8:

“The son of a bitch is off to college! Can you believe that?” Howard asks through the phone, and Steve chuckles.

“He's a genius, just like his father. He’s, what, fourteen?” Steve asks, trying to remember the last time he saw Tony. It was briefly, but all it takes is a few seconds and then it’s there. It was two years ago, so that should make him—

“Fifteen,” Howard informs. “And I knew that school was going to be good for him. Maria and Jarvis always gave me those looks, but look at him now! MIT. Now all I've gotta do is convince the boy to take over the company when I’m gone.” Howard huffs out a laugh. “God, I don’t think he’s gonna like it, but—” Howard stops, but Steve knows. That was the whole reason why he was even born.

They both don’t speak for a second, and then Howard sighs. “Right. Anyway, there's a ‘Farewell Tony’ dinner on the twenty-third. You and Peg are invited.”

They talk for awhile more, mostly about nonsense, and then Howard has to go, and Steve’s left waiting for Peggy to come home.

A few days later Peggy laughs at the card in front of her, baby blue with bold, white letters saying, “FAREWELL DINNER FOR ANTHONY STARK”.

“They're acting like he’s never coming back,” Peggy says, chuckling. She coughs a moment later, but she quickly covers it with a sigh. “And he's growing up so fast. Already off to college?”

“He's a genius, just like his old man. He's only fifteen,” Steve says, turning the invitation over, which states when, where, and why, and to ‘save the date!’.

Peggy’s eyes go wide. “Wow, fifteen already? And off to college?”

Steve nods, a proud smile on his face. “Yup. Genius.”

Peggy smiles softly, and then a bit sadly as she stares at the invitation, and Steve immediately knows what she’s thinking about.

This could've been them. This could be their daughter, or son, leaving to college. Graduating high school.

Steve rubs her back, and she leans against him.

Two and a half weeks later they're at Tony’s farewell party, and it's a bit too serious, no balloons, no other kids; just a whole bunch of faceless adults and alcoholic beverages that Tony isn’t allowed to drink.

“How you feeling, Tony?” Howard asks him, finally, towards the end of the event. Tony hasn't said much, and he's been polite, but obviously bored. He looks at Howard, and then Maria. Maria gives him a reassuring smile, and Tony shrugs.

“Um…,” his voice is deeper than it was before, and it makes Steve smile. It's weird to see him growing so fast, but also nice. He catches Steve’s eye, and this time he holds it for a little bit, a glint in them as if he wants to ask Steve a question, and then he glances at somebody else. “Excited?”

Howard cackles, having had too much to drink, and slaps Tony’s back three times as he points at him. Some other men laugh just as loudly, while others awkwardly chuckle. “Look at him! My boy, leaving for college! What’re you excited for?” Howard asks, and then he cackles again, “The ladies, I’m sure!”

The whole table erupts into laughter, while Tony blushes. Maria tells Howard to stop it and to leave their boy alone, but she’s smiling at Tony nonetheless as he shrugs at his mother.

The night goes on like that, Howard unnecessarily laughing too hard at anything, and when Tony excuses himself, so does Steve. Peggy smirks knowingly, and Steve gives her a peck on the cheek as he leaves to catch up to Tony.

“Hey,” he says before Tony is far enough that he can pretend he can’t hear Steve. Tony visibly stiffens, and he looks down for a second as he shoulders tense, and then he looks at him with a smile. When he notices that it’s Steve, his smile falters a bit, and then he relaxes.

“Oh,” he says, walking towards Steve. “Hey, Steve. It's been awhile. How’ve you been?”

Steve grins, shrugging. “I've been great, kiddo. But how have you been? I mean—,” Steve whistles lowly, and Tony turns red, “MIT. That’s amazing.”

Tony shrugs, too, and lifts a hand to ruffle his hair. “Ah, thanks. Yeah. It's…,” Tony tries to think of something, but then he gives up. “Not surprising, really.”

Steve laughs loudly, and Tony grins.

“And I'm not surprised,” Steve says. He then looks around and leans a little closer. “Look, if you ever need me, just call, alright? I'm here for you, kid. I know you don't see me much, but I care for you. I’ve known you since you were this small,” Steve says, spreading his hands to the exact measurement Tony probably was when Steve first held him, “so I’ve got your back.”

Tony stares at him, no expression on his face, and then his lips turn up a bit, and he nods. “Okay. Thanks, Steve. That...means a lot. I'll see you next time.”

Steve beams, clapping Tony’s shoulder. “Anytime. And hang in there. Life gets rough but will always smoothen out.”

Tony nods, walking away. He gives a thumbs up. “Uh-huh. Thanks. I've gotta finish packing, but I'll talk to you soon.”

They part ways, and Steve’s proud of himself. He really does wish Tony a good life.

~~~  
7:

The thing is, Peggy is getting old.

She's still beautiful, of course. She still knows how to defend herself, and her place in the world. Her mind is still sharp, for the most part.

But she's old. She’s seventy years old.

Steve can’t help but think this as he stands still, holding an umbrella as it rains hard on top of him and Peggy. He thinks this as he listens to what people are saying, to what people aren’t saying. He thinks this as he watches one of his best friends and his wife are put six feet under in large, tragically beautiful caskets.

Howard’s not the first, and he certainly won’t be the last.

He didn't cry when he found out. And he isn't crying now. A part of him wants to; hell, he needs to. Peggy’s crying. But all that's in his mind is, God, please don’t be next.

And then he sees Tony, far off to his right. He hasn’t spoken, and Steve thinks that he probably won’t. Steve won’t. Peggy will, soon. For the both of them. Steve doesn’t do those. He never felt the need to stand and say his partings to everyone; he prays, and he prays some more, and that’s how he grieves.

Maybe Tony’s the same way because he leaves when the caskets are down. It isn’t really like Tony, to be so blatantly rude, but everything's changing anyway. Tony’s growing up. He’s twenty-one, and the last time Steve had a proper conversation with him was three years ago.

He should try to talk to Tony, he really should, but he remains next to Peggy, holding her hand tightly.

~~~  
6:

“Hey Tony, it’s Steve again. Ah, I know you're probably...busy, and all, with the—the company, and, recent events but—I’m just calling again in case...in case you haven't gotten the other messages. Um. Yeah. Just—just give me a call back when you can. Thanks. Bye.”

Steve leaves about fifteen messages before he finally gets a call back, and it’s a week after Mr. and Mrs. Stark’s funeral.

“Hello?” Steve answers, after a few seconds of his phone ringing. He goes back to helping Peggy make dinner, and when she gives him the “Who called?” look he shrugs.

“U-uh, Steve?”

Steve’s eyes widen, and he looks at Peggy to mouth ‘Tony’. She nods and ushers him out of the kitchen.

“Tony?” He asks, and he takes a seat in his living room.

It's silent for a few seconds. “Yeah. Yeah. It’s me.” Pause. “Look, are you...are you and Aunt Peggy home? Are you guys home?”

Steve nods. “Yeah. We’re home. We’re—we’re still here. Why?”

Tony sighs over the phone. “I'm...I’m at the mansion. I have to—all their stuff…,” he trails off, and Steve fills in.

“You want us to come over?” He asks, and Tony huffs out a laugh. It reminds Steve of Howard, and it makes him frown.

“God, no. No. It's...a mess right now. I—yeah, no. Actually, I was wondering if...if I can stop by your guys’ place and...maybe, if it isn't too much—”

“Tony,” Steve says sternly, and Tony stops talking immediately. He feels bad for a second, but he doesn't hesitate as he barrels on forward. “I'm here for you. We’re both here for you. You’ll always be welcomed to our house. Stay as long as you'd like. A week, a month—three months. Anything you need, Tony. We’re here for you.”

It's silent again, and Tony mutters, “Thank you. I won't be long, though. I've gotta get back by next week to...take care of the company.” He laughs again, and Steve doesn't like how self-deprecating it sounds. “I’ll be over in a bit. I still have a few letters from before. It's the same address, right?”

Steve nods again. “Yup, since nineteen forty-six.”

Tony chuckles, and this time Steve likes it. “Wow,” Tony says. “I always forget how old you are.”

“Hey, watch it, now,” Steve says, and Tony laughs again.

“Alright, alright, sorry old man. No, but, thanks. Really. It means a lot.”

Steve smiles. “Anytime, Tony. I'm gonna go help the Misses make dinner now. See you in a couple hours?”

Tony doesn't speak for a second, then, “Yeah. I’ll be over in a bit. Bye, Steve.”

“Later, Tony.”

Luckily, Tony does come later. It's around midnight when he does, and Peggy’s already fast asleep by then, but Steve has always been a night owl.

Tony knocks softly, and Steve wonders for a second if Tony would have bothered to knock louder if no one came to the door. He quickly walks over and opens it though, just in case Tony does leave.

When the door opens, his eyes first take everything in and then zero in on Tony’s small duffel on the ground. Then, Tony’s large coat and the jeans poking out underneath. He looks at Tony’s face, and sees that his eyes are blotchy; red and puffy all over. His nose is red, too, and just then Tony brings a tissue up to blow his nose quickly, and then he attempts a smile.

“Hey,” he says quietly, and Steve smiles back.

“Hey,” he replies, and he moves out of the way to let Tony in. They don’t talk as he does, and Steve closes the door behind him.

“Do you want something to drink? Tea? Hot chocolate? Coffee?”

Tony thinks for a second. “Um, water, please.”

Steve nods. “Yeah, no problem. You can leave your duffel on the couch, for now.”

He walks off to get Tony a glass of water. When he comes back, Tony is seated stiffly, leaning forward to put his elbows on his knees. Steve hands him the glass and Tony thanks him.

Steve takes a seat next to him and waits.

“I miss them,” he eventually says quietly, and Steve adjusts himself to sit more comfortably. Steve doesn't talk, so Tony continues. “It might be...hard to believe. They aren’t—they weren’t the worst parents in the world, they just...didn’t know how to take care of a kid.”

Steve doesn't say anything still. He knows that too. A lot of people probably do.

Tony sighs. “Do we—do we have to talk about this?” Tony asks, and he looks at Steve expectantly, his bottom lip wobbling just the slightest, and his eyes go glassy. Steve shakes his head, and Tony looks away to nod.

He sniffs for a bit, covering his eyes, and then he looks at Steve again, his eyes glistening more than before.

“I hated him.” He twists his lips, and then he says it louder; angrier. “I hated him. We always had to act so fake in front of everyone—” He grips the glass in his hand, the water sloshing a little bit, and he calms down. “I just...he gave me everything, Steve. But all I wanted was him to be my dad.”

Steve nods, and Tony looks at him. His lashes are wet, and it makes them look that much longer. His eyes are dark, appearing hooded as he searches Steve’s face.

Something’s off. Steve can feel it; he feels weird, and it’s definitely foreign. Almost wrong, but Tony needs him right now, so he tries his best to push it away. The more he looks at Tony, though, the harder it is to do it.

Tony looks away first, shaking his head.

“Sorry. I should...probably get some sleep. I didn't mean to keep you up.”

Steve’s brain freezes for a second, which is odd, but he quickly gets back on track. He takes Tony’s cup with an understanding nod and leaves it in the kitchen sink. He asks Tony to follow him, into the guest bedroom and stays near the door when Tony walks in and takes his coat off.

Maybe Steve isn’t as much of a night owl as he thought. Maybe he’s tired.

Steve speaks when Tony waits for a reason why he’s still at the door.

“The bathroom is right over here,” Steve says, backing up a bit and pointing right. “Peggy got everything set up; we’ve got toothbrushes, toothpaste, deodorant, shower supplies—anything you need. If you need help finding anything don’t be afraid to ask.” Steve tries to think of anything more and has to look away from Tony’s oddly piercing eyes to think properly. But he comes up with nothing, so he shrugs. “Yeah, I think that’s all. Do you need anything?”

Tony surveys his room and then shakes his head. “No, everything's fine. Thank you, Steve.”

Steve smiles, brushing off the thanks. “No, it's not a problem at all. Sleep well, Tony.”

Tony nods, and then he quickly walks over to Steve and embraces him into a tight hug. Steve’s surprised at first, but hugs back as quickly as he can. They stay like that for awhile, and then Tony pulls back.

“Goodnight, Steve.”

Steve closes the door as he walks out, and when he pulls back into bed with Peggy, fast asleep, he feels fine again and dozes off with a small smile.

Tony’s not there in the morning, somehow, but he leaves a note, thanking them again, and apologizing to Peggy for not waiting to speak to her, too. But he promises he’ll be back soon.

~~~  
5:

It’s another five years before Steve sees Tony, and it’s at Peggy’s funeral.

She passed away three days ago, quietly, right next to Steve, in her sleep. According to the experts, it was around two a.m., due to SDC; sudden cardiac arrest. She died within minutes.

And to think Steve was right there. Right next to her, fast asleep. He should have woken up. He could have saved her somehow.

But she wasn’t even that old. Not old enough to die. Not yet. Steve really believed he had a good few years with her left. He did. He deserves them, dammit. And if not him, then for her. She was always good, always sharp, always unstoppable.

And she’s just...gone.

And he's here. Still here. How long is he going to be here, exactly? He’s getting closer to a century old each day, and he barely passes as thirty-five. Hell, some even say thirty. He’s still in peak condition; strong, unable to get sick, quick thinking, has the memory of an elephant—but it isn't so great anymore. Hasn’t been. For decades.

Tony pulls him aside when everything's over. In fact, they’re the only two left in the church, but Tony does pull him aside, toward the back of the church before he lifts his sunglasses up to give Steve an apologetic expression.

He’s wearing an obviously expensive suit, and the sunglasses look weird inside, but he’s sharp either way. His hair perfectly gelled. He screams rich, and confident, and Steve starts to wonder where the boy who couldn’t sleep over and left a note in apology went. Or the one who didn't look the least bit nervous going to college before he even finished puberty. Or even the little infant in his arms that only knew how to blink and sleep.

“I’m sorry,” Tony says, and his voice is deep; richer, if possible, than before.

Steve’s frown deepens.

“She really wanted to see you.”

Tony turns away, slightly, and he rubs his chin as he shrugs. They both don’t speak. Finally, Tony turns back to him.

“I...you know, I did mean to. I wanted to. But, everything. I was too busy. I’m still busy—”

Steve shakes his head. His chest starts to constrict and he knows that there’s a wrinkle in his brow; now isn’t a time to get angry, but he can’t help it.

“You don’t need to make any excuses,” Steve says as calmly as he can. “It just would have been nice for you to see us. Once. In the past five years.”

Tony opens and closes his mouth, looking frustrated. He rubs his forehead and crosses his arms afterward.

“Okay, alright—I’m sorry. I honestly don’t know why I haven’t visited, but let’s not talk about this right now, alright? Let’s—well.” Tony sighs. “She was an amazing woman, Steve. You were lucky to have her.”

Steve nods, and he has to look away from Tony to stop himself from getting angrier. It's not exactly Tony, it isn’t all him, and even though he can’t say that out loud, he hopes Tony can understand.

And Tony does. Or so he hopes.

“Okay,” Tony says when Steve doesn’t speak. “I’ll...I’ll see you when I see you.” He starts to walk away, and Steve can actually breath, and then he pauses to turn around and add: “Oh, and if you need anything, don’t hesitate to give me a call. I’m here for you, too.”

Steve almost laughs.

~~~  
4:

Tony shows up at Steve's house five days later. He isn't sure when he would have seen Tony again if he wasn't home, but he dismisses the thought quickly enough.

“I'm sorry,” Tony says when Steve only stares at him. A part of him wants to feel a bit inferior compared to Tony, but he's been alive long enough not to dwell on those sorts of things and instead crosses his arms and leans against the door confidently, despite only being in pajama pants and slippers. Tony's over-dressed in a suit, which gives a stark contrast between the two.

Tony clears his throat when Steve doesn't respond.

“I'm sorry for leaving you two behind after my parents died. I wasn't concerned about the consequences, and the possibility that...that anything can happen to you two,” Tony stops, looking away. He takes his sunglasses off and gives Steve the chance to look at his face. “I'm truly sorry, Steve. It never crossed my mind that one day Aunt Peggy wouldn’t be here. She was always the rock that kept everyone steady. I really wish that I got to see her one last time.”

Steve lets Tony’s words sink in, and then he nods, moving out of the way. “Come in. Peggy would hate it if I bothered to stay angry with you.”

Tony nods, and he closes the door behind him when they settle in. Steve walks to the kitchen, reheating the eggs he couldn't eat during breakfast.

“I've got some eggs here, if you want some,” he says, already grabbing a plate, and Tony sets down some keys, his sunglasses and his phone as he takes a seat at the dining table. He shrugs off his coat, and Steve watches him from where he’s at near the stove.

“Sure,” Tony mutters, and Steve lets the eggs heat up.

After a few seconds, Steve lets himself open up. He can see it in Tony’s face that he’s willing to listen, that he wants Steve to talk, to help Steve understand that he’s serious about being here for him, just as he was there for Tony when his parents passed away.

Steve audibly exhales. “A part of me is happy for her,” he says cautiously, and Tony leans back comfortably, arms folded in front of him. Steve continues. “I only wish that I can accompany her soon.” He embarrassingly feels his tears welling up, as the continuous realization dawns on him that he doesn't know when he's going to die. “I don't know how long I'm going to be like this. The experts say that I've got anything between forty and seventy good years left in me. After that, there's a good chance that I would live for twenty to thirty years more before my body finally gives up on me. But that’s just an assumption. They honestly have no clue how long this will last.” He's crying by the end, the tears falling, but it's just a routine. He's learned to accept it, but it's hard saying it out loud, knowing that it's still true. He still has almost one hundred years left, give or take, and that breaks him every time.

Tony's in front of him, rubbing his shoulder. He tries to lightly shrug him off, but Tony stays put, grabbing Steve’s face.

He looks for Steve’s eyes, and when he finds them, they stare at one another until Tony speaks. Steve’s dimly aware of the warmth from Tony’s palms traveling to his cheeks.

“You are the strongest, bravest man I have ever met,” Tony says, voice gruff. “And you've got me, Steve. Even states, countries, oceans away—you’ve got me. You’re not alone.”

“Yeah,” Steve says bitterly, “And then I’ve got your kids and their kids.”

Tony’s mouth and eyes scrunch irritably, and Steve grabs Tony’s hands off of his face, and he holds them as he apologizes almost unconsciously. They’re warm, and soft, as they were on his face, and Steve gives them a small squeeze.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean—thank you. I'm grateful to have you,” Steve says, and Tony looks at him with such—he doesn't know, admiration? Or perhaps guilt? He isn't entirely sure, but when Tony looks down at their entwined hands and wrenches them apart, Steve gives out a startled laugh.

“Sorry,” he says, and Tony cuts him off with an awkward laugh of his own.

“No, it's not you—it wasn't,” he stops, a blush forming on his cheeks. “I just made this awkward, didn't I?”

Steve shakes his head, looking down at his eggs, and he startles when he notices that the eggs are starting to burn. He turns the stove off quickly, but the damage has already been done, and smoke starts to swirl heavily around the stove. He groans lightly in frustration.

“This really sucks,” he mutters, and he turns to Tony apologetically. “I can make you something else—”

“Let’s go out,” Tony says lightly, a small amused smile on his face. He stuffs his hands into his pockets as he takes a few steps backward, not as close to Steve. “My treat.”

His gut reaction is to object; he doesn't have the energy, he doesn't want to be around others, he would rather stay inside the comfort of his home—but then the rational side of him notices that this is a rare chance that is being offered, and really, he doesn't want to be in this house, where it's sloppy and holds painful reminders of his late wife.

He gets a hold of himself and then nods. “Yeah, sure. Let me get ready.” He starts to walk away, but he turns to add, “and help yourself to anything. The remote for the TV is somewhere on the couch, but—yeah, help yourself.”

Tony’s lips move to form that amused smile again, a very small laugh passing through, and Steve feels a small surge of pride swell inside his chest. He grins and leaves.

They end up agreeing on a restaurant only a few miles away, a small enough place that hopefully no one will recognize Tony. They laugh about it as they take a seat and wait for a waiter to greet them.

“Seriously,” Tony says, grinning, “No one ever recognizes you? Everyone in this country—the world knows who you are as both Captain America and Steve Rogers, and you aren't followed around by paparazzi? How is that possible?”

Steve shrugs, leaning back on his chair. “It's been a blessing, actually. I think it's because I usually have that cowl on, you know, the whole outfit thing when I'm out. People know my name, but I've never gone as Steve Rogers to the press. Besides,” Steve says, chuckling, “most people think I’m a conspiracy, so that probably helps a lot.”

“I still can't believe that either,” Tony says, baffled. “After all the shit we’ve seen and they can’t believe in a super soldier?”

Steve shrugs. “Can't say I'm surprised, honestly. The American people are an enigma in itself.”

“You can say that again,” Tony mumbles, and then he's offering a dazzling smile to the waitress who’s just arrived.

“Hello, sweetheart,” he says nonchalantly, and the waitress nods politely.

“Good afternoon. I'm Elena and I'll be your waitress for tonight. Can I start you guys off with anything? Drinks?”

Steve and Tony look at one another and then grab the menus that have been waiting on the table.

“Not yet,” Steve says, looking through the options. “Well, I'll just have a water.”

She nods, jotting it down on her pad. She looks at Tony, and he shrugs.

“I'll have the same. Never can go wrong with that,” he mentions with a wink, and Elena suppresses a smile as she tells them she’ll be back with their drinks in a few minutes.

When she leaves, Steve pretends to inspect the menu as he admits, “You are as big of a flirt as they say.”

Tony grins charmingly. “What can I say? It's like breathing for me.”

“A necessity?” Steve asks, looking up at him through his lashes, amused. Tony, surprisingly, looks at him thoughtfully and in a weird way, it makes Steve’s cheeks burn.

“Well,” Tony says lowly, leaning onto his palm as he rests his elbow on the table, “when you put it like that…”

“What other way can you put it?” Steve asks curiously, and he can’t help but feel like he’s walking on eggshells, with the way Tony’s eyes are boring into him.

“More like second nature,” Tony ultimately says, and he leans back in his chair once more. The tension vanishes immediately, and somehow Steve feels cold and barren without it.

  
~~~  
3:

He barely gets a year and a half in before he hears that Tony went missing in Afghanistan.

They tried their best to call at least once a week. All of them are relatively short and don’t exactly even mean anything, but it’s kept him sane. He doesn’t feel as alone as he would, at least.

But now Tony’s gone. Has been, for almost a month, and Steve feels like he’s going to pull his hair out. No, worse than that, but he can’t explain it.

He’s working for SHIELD again, but he hasn’t been cleared to help find Tony. It leaves him angry, frustrated, and almost like he’s betraying Tony. He knows how Tony works now; knows that Tony isn’t very capable of feelings, or taking care of himself properly, or trusting others. But he trusts Steve, and yet here Steve is, feeling like he’s sitting on his ass and twiddling his thumbs waiting for Tony to come back when he damn well sure knows that he is more than capable of going out and searching for Tony himself.

It just...sucks. To put it simply.

It takes three months before Tony himself found his way to an American base with a man who claimed to be a pilot in the United States Marines named James Rhodes.

Steve tries to see him as soon as he can, and the first time he does try, a woman said he wasn’t available at the moment for “interviews”.

“No,” Steve says, for the third damn time, “I know Tony. I have his number. I’m just calling to see if he’s okay.”

The woman gives an annoyed sigh over the phone. “Sir, he’s fine. If you have his number and he’s not answering, it’s probably for a reason. Anything else?”

“I…” Steve trails off, and he can’t find it in himself to argue anymore. “Never mind. Tell him Steve called. Rogers. Please.”

“No problem. Would that be all?” The woman asks, and Steve just hangs up.

Frustrating, this kid.

A few days later he tries again. The same lady answers. She says that he’s fine again.

There’s a point where he can’t take it anymore, and he hauls his ass to SI and demands to see Tony.

The receptionist irritatingly sounds exactly as she does on the phone.

“Sir, I’m going to call security if you don’t leave.”

He's about to yell when another woman happens to walk by, her red hair immediately catching Steve’s attention.

“What’s going on?” She asks, looking at Steve and the receptionist. The receptionist opens her mouth to explain, but Steve beats her to it.

“Ma’am,” he begins, annoyance hopefully contained, “I’m...a friend of Tony’s. Tony Stark. I've been trying to get a hold of him but I can't and—”

“Mr. Rogers?” She asks, eyebrow raised. Steve nods.

“Uh, yes. Yes. Steve Rogers, ma’am.”

She nods. “Come with me.”

Steve can’t help but to turn and look at the receptionists face, but she wasn’t even listening, already on the phone with someone else. He follows the lady toward an elevator, and she turns to him when she flashes a card and presses a button.

“This will take you to floor fifty-five. Once you reach it, take a left. Walk straight and to your right there should be two different elevators. Take the one on your left when you face it. Press floor 76. Once you reach seventy-six, there should be a couple people there. Find one's attention and tell them that Miss Potts sent you, and that you know about floor 78. They should lead you to another elevator. Once inside, press floor 79, and he should be in there. You got all that?”

Steve repeats it in his head and nods. Just then the elevator dings and opens. He walks inside and gives her an appreciative expression. Not much of a smile, but maybe one close to it.

She nods. “You’re welcome. You’re lucky I’m on my lunch break, else you probably wouldn’t be seeing him for another month. Good day, Mr. Rogers.”

Just then, the doors close and she’s gone.

It takes a whole twenty minutes to reach floor seventy-nine, and right away Steve is exposed to a large...garage. A workshop, of sorts. With holograms. Or something. Steve isn’t sure, but he sure knows advanced technology when he sees it, and right now he’s seeing a whole lot of it. There’s scraps of metal and various tools scattered across the floor, and Steve walks inside when he hears noise further in. Through all the junk, he finally sees Tony, in jeans and a heavy sweatshirt, cut at the shoulders so his arms are exposed, with gloves and a flimsy mask as he wields a piece of metal with a torch.

He quickly walks over, but he decides against scaring Tony. The last thing he needs is accidentally having the guy burn his stupid arm off. Just the thought of it makes Steve mad all over again.

After a few seconds the torch is turned off and Tony bangs the metal in front of him with a hammer. It echoes throughout the place, and Steve winces.

“Careful, I’ve got sensitive hearing,” Steve says, as a way to let his presence be known.

Tony’s body visibly stutters, and he turns to Steve quickly, the mask still on. He quickly drops the hammer to press a gloved hand to his chest, and after a few seconds of him exploring his pecs, he takes the mask off to reveal an angry Tony.

“Steve,” he hisses, and he throws his gloves off. “What’re you doing here? Who told you you could be here?”

Steve glares. “A lovely woman. And what do you expect? You go missing for three months and when I try to contact you, you don’t respond! What? I’m just going to sit there and accept that? You could have been dead, Tony!”

Tony’s eyes roll up in annoyance. “I’m fine, Steve. I’ve been busy, you know. With—with work, and catching up. And I was in counseling for a good week, and that took a lot of my time.”

Steve clenches his fists. “Yeah, maybe I would have known that if you'd just answer your damn phone for once. Tony—what’s so hard about sending a little text? A simple ‘I’m fine’ would have sufficed.”

Tony crosses his arms stubbornly. “I’m fine. That good enough for you?”

Steve shakes and for a moment sees red.

“What is it with you?!” He explodes. “I care about you, Tony. Do you not care about how I feel? Do you like making me angry, and worried? Scared that I might never see or hear from you again?”

Tony throws his hands up. “Well, why do you care so much, Steve? Why! We barely saw each other when I was growing up. I can probably count on my two hands alone how many times I’ve seen you throughout my childhood. You don’t know me, Steve. You don’t.”

Steve clenches his jaw, looking away.

“I may not have seen you much, Tony, but you're the son of a good friend of mine. Peggy and I both cared for you a lot, even if it doesn’t seem like it.”

Tony shakes his head. “No, you know what I think? I think you somehow have it in that stupid brain of yours that I have a piece of Howard in me. You're upset that everyone you love is gone and I’m the only person left that reminds you of your past. You don't care about me; you put up with me, for your own, twisted benefit.”

Steve sends daggers through his eyes, his head spilling with rude things to say, but when he takes a good look at Tony, he sees that Tony is pale. His eyes dark and sunken in. He looks a bit skinny; sickly even. His hair is a crazy mess, not the usual gel on top of it, and the fight dies in Steve. It’s amazing, how easily he can control his anger sometimes.

He turns around without saying anything and walks away.

Tony lets him.

~~~  
2:

Steve meets Iron Man for the first time on a mission against a god of sorts named Loki. He comes unexpectedly, blasting Loki’s scepter out of his hand before forcing the man to surrender, hands pointed at him, the palms glowing.

It scared Steve. It was basically a robot; a literal machine man.

So Steve hit him; threw his shield as hard as he could against the things head.

The robot almost fell over, his head bouncing forward as he howled out, “Ow!” And turned to Steve in, maybe, most likely, possibly, anger. Steve couldn’t exactly tell, the face was metal, with glowing eyes that screamed ‘bad guy’.

“Captain! What was that for? You know how long it’s going to take to fix that dent? Wait, no, don’t answer it. You have no freaking idea!”

Steve ran for his shield, and the man followed his movements. Loki watched in amusement, not seeming the least bit terrified. While grabbing his shield, Steve quickly got a hold of the scepter too.

The robot holds his hands up in surrender.

“Whoa, there, fella. I’m a good guy. Iron Man. Your little SHIELD friends didn’t tell you?”

Just then, Black Widow speaks into his ear. “He’s right, Cap. I meant to tell you earlier but you seemed a bit busy getting your ass handed to you.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “I had him, Widow. Captain America never gets his ass handed to him.”

The iron man moves his hands as if he’s clapping, but they don’t actually touch.

“He speaks, _and_ has a potty mouth! Would you look at that?”

Steve glares.

It’s a rocky start from then on with Iron Man, constantly arguing and bickering. Thor and Black Widow mostly find it amusing, but the only sensible one is Bruce, and he finds it extremely annoying and voices that it can hurt the team.

Either way, Steve’s mind doesn’t change much about Iron Man. Even when he does save their ship from falling out of the sky, risking his life in the process. Even when he does show remorse when Coulson dies.

It’s not until the bastard flies a nuke into the sky and almost certainly doesn’t come back.

It makes Steve feel awful, for those long seconds, where he thinks that maybe this man has a family. Friends. He probably has a life out of this; a future. He could be young, or old. But he’s a man, and he just risked his life to save thousands of others.

He’s a true hero, despite what Steve thinks of him.

And then he falls, and falls, and falls until Hulk catches him, and gently lies him down to the ground.

The suit isn’t moving. It isn’t moving. And the eyes aren’t glowing like they usually do. Is the man dead? Is the suit dead? Is the man alive in a dead suit?

Steve looks around the neck, the head, everywhere for anything that shows maybe a button or a—

And then the eyes flicker, and Steve looks down at them in worry. They flicker again, and Steve takes Iron Man’s head in between his hands, moving it side to side gently.

“Hey,” he says. “Hey, come on. Can you hear me? Iron Man. Iron Man. Are you trapped?”

The eyes flicker again, and a couple more times, before there's a loud whir, and the suit thrums from beneath him. Steve backs off, and the eyes stay glowing.

“Iron Man?”

The head moves a little, and then some more, and then he’s facing Steve.

“Did it work?” He asks, and Steve sags in relief.

“Hey, Cap, it worked? It really worked? We’re—we’re done? We saved the day?”

Steve chuckled, shaking his head.

“No,” he says honestly, “ _You_ saved the day.”

Things between them aren’t the same from then on. They actually become, weirdly enough, friends.

They still argue, but it’s mostly out of habit than actual despise for one another. And sometimes, yeah, Iron Man flirts.

Well, a lot actually. And at first, it was with everybody. There was Natasha, but he quickly stopped when she threatened him with figuring out his secret identity. She wasn’t playing around.

And there was Clint, but then he actually started flirting back.

Thor can’t understand when he’s being hit on, which is sometimes fun but quickly gets boring.

And finally, Bruce easily ignores Iron Man.

So then there’s Steve. And there’s always a reaction. He can’t help it.

He can get mad when they’re in the middle of a fight and Iron Man can’t help himself. He can get flustered when it comes completely out of the blue. He can get annoyed, but mostly embarrassed when it’s in front of Fury, or said in front of everyone. He sometimes teases back, and those are usually the ones that Steve often stops and thinks _Why am I encouraging him?_

Who knows. But the more it happens, the more he expects it, and the more he appreciates it. Hell, now he basically looks forward to Iron Man’s witty remarks. They’re funny, and...flattering. Sometimes.

“Iron Man!” He yells, just as he jumps off of an apartment complex, chasing after a stupid villain who turns out can actually fly.

“Bit busy,” Iron Man replies, but in no time he’s coming over to catch Steve before he plummets and breaks a bone, which the team doesn’t exactly need right now.

When Iron Man catches him, it’s bridal style. The usual. Steve doesn’t know how he does it, but it’s been so many times now he can’t find it in himself to care anymore.

“Romantic, isn’t it? Clutch onto me harder. It’s hot.” Cue annoyed eye-roll.

“See,” Clint says through the comms conversationally, “this type of shit is distracting. I’d really appreciate it if you guys flirted on your own time.”

“Second that,” Bruce says casually, safely, from where he’s at in the quinjet.

Steve frowns but doesn’t comment. Iron Man carefully lands down and lets Steve go. Steve quickly gets back to work, but right before he does Iron Man shrugs.

“I don't know. It all depends if the Captain can admit his undying love for me. Then we can live happily ever after and have some long deserved steamy time after our wedding.” Iron Man flies off then, but Steve smirks as he continues to go after the main villain.

“Hey, ask me on a date first, then we can talk.”

It was out of his mouth like autopilot. And it isn’t really what everyone else thought, it’s about what he thought. Because Steve doesn’t just spit things out like that. What he says has a purpose.

Because now? Now he can’t get that thought out of his head. He likes Iron Man.

Even days later, when they’re already on a different mission, the thought lingers in his head. What does Iron Man look like? Does he have a family? What’s his favorite food? How would it be like to be in a relationship with Iron Man? One thing is for sure: It’d probably be great to date him.

He’s funny, and smart. Two traits already hard to find together. Then, he can take care of himself. His combat skills are amazing; he moves fluidly, and quickly. Just how he thinks. He's selfless and cares about others. He's confident, and he isn’t a grade-A asshole while doing so.

He's perfect. It’s just...Steve doesn’t even know a name.

Iron Man Rogers doesn't sound exactly romantic.

...not that he’s thinking about marrying the guy, _Christ_.

Either way, Steve dismisses the insistent thoughts. They aren't anything serious, and if it's anything at all, it can only be described as a brief infatuation. 

~~~  
1:

It happens unexpectedly. Not only because Tony isn't drunk, which Steve _really_ wishes he was, but also because _Tony's kissing him_.

They're alone, in Tony's room. He doesn't know what's going on. He wanted more information on Iron Man; if he was okay, of course. He hasn't seen Iron Man since earlier this morning when he was blasted with some chemical from the villain, Blue Ivy. No way would Steve ask anything more; they're teammates.

Then again, why would Tony lead Steve into his room for Iron Man's status? He should have expected something unexpected. But it's _Tony_.

His lips are soft for the most part, only the tiniest bit chapped. They're warm, too. He would never have imagined that kissing Tony would feel so intimate; it's almost like sex. Warm, wet and exciting. Steve's body flushes, and Tony's tongue, solid and insistent, is enough to make Steve half hard. Steve snaps to reality quickly enough, when Tony starts to fit a leg in between his thighs.

Steve pulls away and Tony only tries to pull himself closer. He's like those girls that use to throw themselves at Steve, but Peggy was always there to push them off when he didn't have the heart to.

" _Tony_ ," he says, and Tony pulls back, alarmed.

"Whoa," he says as if Steve was the one that kissed him, "Whoa, okay. Okay. JARVIS, check—" his eyes glaze over for a second, and he looks at Steve with such hunger it makes Steve's skin prickle and his gut churn just the slightest. He isn't sure if it's with arousal or fear. Fear of what? The arousal?

"Yes, Sir?" JARVIS replies when Tony doesn't continue.

Tony licks his lips and shakes his head. He takes a couple steps backward, stumbling, screwing his eyes shut. Maybe he is drunk, after all.

"JARVIS," he forces out, "check—everything. Everything—me. Check vital signs, blood pressure—what the hell?" He breathes out, and then he doubles over, groaning.

Steve takes a step forward in concern, and Tony lifts his head up, shaking it.

"No," he snaps. "Don't get any closer. I don't know—something's—"

"Body temperature is increasing, currently at ninety-nine degrees fahrenheit. Heart rate is at eighty beats per minute. Respiration rate is at twenty-seven breaths per minute. Checking blood pressure isn't possible, Sir, but I can infer that you're simply aroused."

"Simply?" Tony scoffs, and then he sits down in front of his bed, letting out a low groan of frustration. Steve stands there, comprehending, but also not.

Tony mutters to himself. "The fucking...she _told_ me...stupid...contagious? God...shit...JARVIS...can't work like this. Maybe...no...gonna have to—" he gasps sharply, hips suddenly thrusting upward. He throws his head back, and he gives a loud moan before cutting it off with a whine.

Steve decides he's had enough with just watching, and he tries to move closer again.

" _Stop_ ," Tony says, and he sounds annoyed, of all things. He sighs a second later, relenting. "It—it gets worse when you..." he waves his hand around, trying to catch his breath. "...when another human is present. I'm assuming. That seems most logical, at least. You're the first person I've seen since—since last night."

Steve nods, compiling all the information he has so far. "This isn't a normal thing for you?"

Tony gives him a sharp glare. "Do you _think_ this is fucking normal? I'm harder than I've ever been in my fucking life and I didn't even do anything!" Tony hisses, and quickly closes his legs, lifting his hands to grip the sheets hanging off of his bed behind him. His bares his chest, his head thrown back, and Steve has to look away from the erotic pose.

"Yeah," Tony gasps, " _Not fucking normal_. Are you just going to stand there? Get some help at least, God, I'm dying and I don't feel comfortable getting myself off with you right _there_."

"Would it be safe?" Steve asks automatically, and Tony groans again, loud and irritated.

"Would you rather I let my dick explode?" Tony asks, and then he huffs out a laugh. "I mean in the other way, you know, blood and— _ugh fucking_ —can you please get out so that I can get this done with?"

"What if it gets worse?" Steve asks, and he gets closer despite Tony's protests. "I don't think you should try anything until we get confirmation from medical personnel."

Tony's grip tightens on the sheets, and Steve can now see the sheen of sweat on Tony's skin.

"Come on," Tony mutters, eyes hooded, and he thrusts his hips again. He then snaps his eyes open and shakes his head. "No, stop, get _out_."

Steve takes his phone out, sending a quick text to Natasha, knowing that she will respond the quickest, telling her that something is wrong with Tony and to bring SHIELD medical to the tower.

He puts his phone away and sits in front of Tony. "How do you think this happened?"

"I don't know," Tony whines, spreading his legs out in front of him. Steve looks away quickly when he catches sight of Tony's very obvious bulge.

"Okay," Steve mutters, thinking. "You haven't had any contact with anyone since last night? Who was that person?"

"Pepper," Tony gasps out. "It was Pepper. We were just," Tony rests for a second, letting his eyes close. Sweat rolls down his neck, and his entire body is flushed. "Talking. This wasn't her."

Steve bites the inside of his cheek, thinking. "Anyone else? Did you eat or drink anything suspicious?"

" _No_ ," Tony growls, and then he runs his hands over his face, letting go of the sheets. "Fine. Fine. I—it was Iron Man's suit." He takes a deep breath. "He—he told me what happened. I didn't think—she fucking _told_ me and I didn't—"

"Who told you?" Steve asks patiently, and Tony tangles his fingers into his hair, and then he leans to the side unti he hits the floor.

"Ngh, the girl—the villain today—she told me—"

"You've been in contact with Blue Ivy?"

Tony nods but then shakes his head frantically. He turns to lie on his back. "No, no, Iron Man. Iron Man told me that she said—she said this would happen. That I'd—that he'd—that this would happen. Something about chemicals and releasing hormones and whatnot. _Not_ magic. Therefore it's likely that this will wear off, though I'm not sure if all it takes is to cum, or if it'll take hours—," Tony cries out, and finally he brings a hand to his crotch, clutching himself, before he falls limp, spasming just the slightest.

Steve's mouth goes dry. He should leave. In fact, it's the most respectful thing he can do right now. But he can't just leave Tony like this, helpless and...in pain.

"Sorry," Tony breathes out a few seconds later. He groans lightly. "I'm still hard. I don't think it worked."

Steve looks down at his phone as it buzzes.

_I'm on my way. Any bleeding or broken bones? - Natasha_

Steve quickly tells her no and puts the phone away again. Tony's breathing has dwindled down just the slightest, but he's right. When Steve takes a glance at Tony's pants, there's an obvious stain, proof of his ejaculation, but also an unhindered bulge.

"I'm stupid," Tony mumbles when the silence goes past awkward. Steve shakes his head.

"You're not," he says gently. Why is he still here? He could be waiting outside of Tony's room with the door closed. But every time he tries to stand up, he gets a bad feeling in his gut. Leaving Tony alone in such a state scares him. He doesn't know why, though.

"No," Tony says. "I had JARVIS sanitize the suit. I left it alone all morning. And then," he stops himself, and Steve knows that it's something Tony wants to hide. "And then I...I grabbed the helmet. I noticed you were coming by so I wanted to get Iron Man's suit ready just in case you wanted to talk to him. Turns out I didn't put the fucking helmet with the rest of the suit to get sanitized. When I touched it, I realized right away. But I didn't...I ignored everything Iron Man said about Blue Ivy. And then you were coming closer and I quickly went up so that you weren't left waiting." Tony sighs. "I touched my lip not too long afterward, and then it tingled and everything went black and hazy for a moment. Next thing I know I'm trying to kiss you." Tony does his famous self-deprecating laugh. "I'm so fucking stupid, Steve. This is why—" He growls. "God I can't get _one_ fucking sentence." He goes very still for a couple seconds, and damn Steve if he didn't see Tony's member twitch in his pants. Tony lets out a small whine, and then he goes limp again, breathing hard.

Steve feels so bad for Tony. He's probably embarrassed, having Steve watch him like this. It's almost mesmerizing, on the flip side though.

"Maybe," Steve shrugs, forcing the next words out. "Maybe try again? You seemed to have calmed a bit after, um, ejaculating. Maybe a second time would help?" Tony doesn't answer, and Steve blushes even further. "I'll get out, actually. Let you...do it properly."

Tony shakes his head suddenly. "No, no." He bites his lip. "Well, sorry, yeah. You can leave. Let me...get this sorted out."

Steve gives a curt nod, quickly leaving the room. Before he closes the door behind him, he briefly tells Tony he'll be just outside in case he needs him. He closes the door, and right away Tony gives a loud, throaty moan.

Steve's skin heats and his gut and chest grow heavy, his own dick twitching in interest. Tony moans again, and he closes his eyes to help put himself together.

"What the hell, Steve," He mutters to himself, irritated. He adjusts his crotch and clears his throat, taking his phone out to see if Natasha has replied.

When SHIELD arrives, they take him back to their headquarters so that they can properly monitor him and collect any data that can possibly help assuage his condition. The only thing so far that helps even the tiniest bit is achieving an orgasm.

Steve watches him through the glass, observing as if Tony was just eating instead of jerking off half naked.

Tony cries from the other end, letting go of his cock in frustration. "I can't do this anymore!"

The two SHIELD doctors next to him mutter, and Steve checks his phone to see if Natasha has an update on Blue Ivy. Steve wasn't allowed to go talk to her, seeing as there's a possibility he could go violent. He doesn't see why that would be so bad. However, Natasha hasn't replied, so he puts it away, tugging his hair as he tries to calm his mind.

Tony whimpers, saying something. The doctors stop mumbling, wide-eyed. Steve looks at them.

"What?" He asks. "What happened?"

One of the doctors, the female, looks at him with a blush. Tony whimpers again.

"Please," he says desperately, "Just _bring_ someone. It's—I swear. I want it. I want someone in here; anyone. I can't—" he groans, covering his face.

Steve blinks. One of the doctors takes a breath to speak, and he shakes his head. "No. We don't know if this is contagious, and he isn't in the right state of mind to give any type of consent."

The doctors look at one another. The female speaks.

"Captain," she says softly, and Steve narrows his eyes.

"No," he says again, but she ignores him.

"He's in _pain_ ," she insists. "Look at him. He's been like this for three hours. He's had six orgasms. Maybe if we get someone in there to help him—"

"No!" Steve says. He laughs disbelievingly. " _You_ guys are suppose to be the doctors. You're telling me you're willing to spread this to another person? And not only that, but he can't give any proper consent. If this wears off, he can be traumatized."

"He is capable of giving consent," The other doctor, male, informs. "His libido has increased spectacularly, but the only chemicals that have been released have been those known to affect sexual desire, not his sobriety. He's completely aware of what's happening. Though there is a fine line between the two, I'd say that he needs someone in there to feel satisfied." The doctor shrugs. "We can at least give it a try. We can send in a few women and let him choose."

"We can't—"

Tony whines again. He looks back at the glass window, and Tony's seated up, looking around the room. Steve frowns deeply when the female doctor turns the intercom on.

"Mister Stark," she begins, and Tony jumps. "Would you like to consult with anyone first? We aren't sure if it's the best course of action."

"Just bring in anyone you have," Tony says desperately. "I just need something warm to stick my dick in. It doesn't have to be personal. And it's _me_ ," he says with a low whine. "There's got to be one person who wouldn't mind me fucking them."

The male doctor pulls out his two-way radio, and the woman looks at Steve apologetically.

"I'm sorry, Captain, but there's nothing else we can do but try to make him feel better."

Steve seethes, and then he pushes past them. "I'm getting in there."

"Mister Rogers—"

He opens the door swiftly, turning to his left and forcing the knob to Tony's room open, breaking the lock. The moment he walks in the smell of sex and semen and sweat are overpowering, and when he closes the door Tony is looking at him in surprise.

"Tell me you're not the only one available," he says slowly, and Steve can't find it in him to even crack a small smile. He stands there, stone cold.

"I need to make sure that you know what you're doing," Steve says stubbornly, and Tony shakes his head with a small huff.

"Don't tell me you're hung up on the sex," he says, and when he looks at Steve again, he slams his fist on the bed SHIELD left for him. "You're hung up on the sex! Dude," he says, almost yelling, "It doesn't fucking matter! Look at me, look at this." He points all around him. "Would it hurt all that much to bring someone in to help me out a little?"

Steve's resolve falters, but he stays put, and Tony smirks.

"Fine," he says, and he slides off the bed, walking towards Steve.

Steve immediately backs up against the door, his senses heightened. "Stop, what're you doing?"

"You don't want anybody else in?" Tony grits, getting closer, "Then you want it to be you, hm? Admit it." Tony stops when there's only an inch of space, and Steve—Steve should be getting mad. He should be getting uncomfortable and pushing Tony away. He should be letting someone in to help Tony with his condition. He shouldn't be standing shock still, letting Tony, who's not only half naked but also hard, stand so close and letting him whisper in his damn ear. "You want me. You've wanted this. Isn't that true? I can see it."

Steve shakes his head, holding his ground, but his stomach churns in despair. The guilt eats away at his throat. Having Tony say it, having him say it out loud for him. It can't be true, can it? He doesn't want Tony. He's Howard's _son_. Sure, he's always been fascinated with the male physique, but he's never gone so far as to want it sexually. Then again, he was always bound to Peggy. Before that, he was a little twig that was too preoccupied with struggling to survive. He never had the chance.

And here's Tony, offering himself on a silver platter. Really, he has been wanting this, hasn't he?

"Stop thinking," Tony mumbles, and he kisses lightly along Steve's throat. Steve's breath hitches, and he jerks backward, hitting his head. Tony quickly cradles the back of his neck. Steve puts his hands on Tony's shirt covered chest to gently shove him off, but right away Tony jumps back. The atmosphere quickly turns awkward.

After a second, Tony swallows.

"I'm sorry," he says hoarsely, and he walks back to the bed, sitting. "I just want this to stop."

"It hasn't contaminated me," Steve says, and Tony furrows his brows. "I don't know if it means I'm immune, or if it isn't contagious. Either way," he gulps, his heart racing. "Maybe, if...if you're comfortable." The words stop at his throat, and God, was he really going to say that? No way. No fucking way. He shakes his head. "If you really want to, I'll go look for someone. I'll send as many as I can and you can decide what to do. I'll update you on Blue Ivy the moment I have more information." He doesn't wait to get a response from Tony. He leaves.

 

~~~

0:

He's avoiding Tony as much as possible, without being too obvious. It isn't as hard as he thought it would be because Tony seems to have had the same idea. Also, Iron Man has been helping him stay busy.

They talk a lot more, especially now that everyone has officially moved in with Tony. They spend a lot of their time in the Family Room, as Steve has now dubbed it. They all have their own quarters, but once they figured out a routine, a lot of the time they find themselves in the kitchen or in the living room, which happen to be right next to each other.

At first, there was an unspoken rule that strictly said _Don't Talk About Tony_ with Iron Man, but slowly, with each conversation, Steve found himself more and more comfortable with him. That little infatuation he had with him in the beginning started turning into a full-blown crush on the guy. His realization with Tony—well, not Tony, because he would never look at Tony in that spotlight, but he knows he was weak during that incident. There was something about Tony being a guy that turned him on. Now he can properly acknowledge how he feels about Iron Man.

And maybe a part of him likes that there's still a mystery with Iron Man. He doesn't know who he is, what he looks like. He doesn't know his past or his name. He knows Iron Man as he is; stripped of all of that. Despite being in a 'tin can', he's bared much more of himself than anyone else on the team. Or anyone Steve has met, for that matter.

But Tony runs deeper than that. Perhaps he'd like to put a sort of distance between the two; to remind himself that one is different than the other. If Iron Man talks about Tony, he could then see that their lives do intertwine, and he'd have to make a choice to see if it's worth all the trouble.

God, Steve doesn't even know what he's thinking. His mind is so confused with all this newfound information. Surely he isn't trying to make himself choose between Iron Man and Tony, is he? Tony shouldn't even be an option.

And it doesn't help that Iron Man can read him so easily.

They're alone in the Family Room, the rest of the Avengers are God knows where, and Tony probably down in the workshop or out in another state/country.

"What's going on in that big brain of yours?"

Without thinking, Steve mutters, "Tony." Or it could have been on purpose. Iron Man might just say the right things. But _what right things?_

Iron Man stays silent a lot longer than expected. Then he says, in the quietest voice Steve has ever heard him in, "What about him?"

He rubs his eyes hard, to the point where he starts to see random sparks behind his eyelids.

"I don't know," he mumbles. He leans back against the couch, huffing as he blinks up at the ceiling. "I don't know. What do you think of him?"

There's another long pause. Is Steve doing something wrong? Maybe he should have stuck to the _Don't Talk About Tony_ rule.

Iron Man shifts and Steve tries to ignore how much more stiff it looks than usual. "He's an okay guy, I guess. Pays well. What do _you_ think of him?"

He hates how soft sounding Iron Man sounds. How can he speak so softly with that robotic voice of his? How can it make Steve's skin prickle and the hairs on the back of his neck stand? Why does it make his heart swell and his cheeks burn?

It's like Iron Man is walking on eggshells because he knows something's wrong. Isn't that great? How one person can see how he feels with one glance?

He turns his head, taking in Iron Man's form. He's looking back, his eyes glowing as usual. He wishes he could see what's inside. He wishes he can just have a clue; something to help him conjure his own image. He'd like Iron Man no matter what he looked like; he can deal if he never gets to see a face, as long as he can at least imagine.

"What color hair do you have?" Steve asks quietly, but not shyly. He wishes he could see Iron Man blink. Or maybe scratch his nose. Show the more human side of him. Iron Man doesn't answer for a long time. Again.

"Dark," He eventually replies. It isn't much, but Steve takes it. He notices Iron Man's hand clenched against his thigh. Is this hard for him? Is Steve asking for too much?

"And your skin?" Steve asks, setting his hand down next to his own thigh, palm up. He looks back at Iron Man's eyes.

Iron Man looks away, stays like that, and then looks back at Steve. "Darker than yours. Not by much, though."

Steve scoots his hand a little, turning his palm to feel the couch as he moves closer. "And your eyes?" He asks softly.

He wishes he can see Iron Man gulp. He can almost hear it.

"Not as pretty as yours," Iron Man replies. Steve's lips jerk into a smile, and then it disappears. He hears a distant pounding, coming from his own pulse, and he finally reaches Iron Man's wrist. He squeezes, then trails up. He wishes he can feel the skin underneath.

"Do you have a lover?" He holds his breath, but he keeps his hand moving, up to Iron Man's bicep. He memorizes how rough the metal feels, but then again, how smooth it is. Would this be how his skin would feel? Rough and smooth?

He patiently waits for his answer, rubbing at Iron Man's shoulder, though he probably can't feel a thing. It's fine because Steve has never felt this much before.

"Not really," Iron Man eventually says, and Steve pauses. Iron Man jerks forward, knowing what he said wasn't the right thing. "I mean, it's someone...someone I'm not sure I can have."

Steve hums pulling in closer. "Someone I know?"

Iron Man nods slowly. "Yeah. Yeah, you know him."

"Does he live here?" Steve asks, and Iron Man nods again. "Does he feel the same?"

"I'm not sure." He tilts his head, and asks, tentatively, "Do you?"

Steve sits up, throwing a leg over Iron Man's thighs to sit on his lap. Once he's comfortably seated, he wraps his arms around Iron Man's neck, nose to nose with him. He breathes in the manly smell of metal and heat and oil and more metal. He smells familiar. So familiar, but he can't pinpoint it.

"I wish I can see your face," Steve whispers. He closes his eyes, hugging tighter. "I wish I can feel your skin. I wish I can touch your hands; smell your hair." He breathes in deep. He mutters, "Kiss your lips."

Iron Man makes a unique noise, almost equivalent to a whine. Steve starts to back away, but Iron Man stops him by putting his hands just below his back.

"No, me too. Me too. But," Iron Man shakes his head. "It's...you don't know what you're saying. You won't—when you see who I am..."

Steve presses a light kiss to the mouth slit. "I'll like you either way," he says, his lips touching the helmet. "I don't care, Iron Man. You've got me. Let's stop pretending that..." he stops there, his mind running a mile a minute, but he figures Iron Man understands.

He forgets about Tony. He forgets about how he feels about him; how wrong it is. He lets himself know that there's someone else. And not just that, but he knows Iron Man. It's not so much as a better option, but as a reminder of what he can have. If Iron Man lets him.

"How did we get here?" Iron Man deflects, and Steve shrugs.

"I've been alive long enough to know that I shouldn't," he sucks in a breath, thinking. "I should always take that leap. It's better than not and regretting it."

"You really believe that?" Iron Man asks, pulling back, farther away from Steve and closer to the couch. Steve nods confidently.

"Of course."

"Even if—" Iron Man stops suddenly, and it takes a moment for Steve to realize that he deliberately cut himself off. It makes Steve smile softly. It's such a small human thing to do. "I'm not who you want. I wish—I wish I can tell you. I want to. I want you. I want to kiss you too," Iron Man rushes out, his hands clenching at Steve's sides. Not hard enough to bruise or hurt him. "I've been wanting to. For years, Steve. You don't know. You don't know how fucking long."

Steve just nods along, kissing along the metal, half paying attention. Iron Man gently pulls Steve off of him, and Steve abruptly stops. He looks at Iron Man in confusion.

"I don't have to—we don't have to—" Steve tries, but Iron Man continues to push him off.

"It'll kill me," Iron Man confesses, and it sounds so real Steve isn't sure if he means literally or not. "I'm an all or nothing guy, Steve. I can't—I wouldn't be able to do this with just some. And I can't...I can't give you all."

Steve finally backs off, and he can't look at the other man's helmet. All he sees is the same expression, and with a conversation like this, it's starting to drive him insane.

Iron Man is right. Even the words he left unspoken. He can hear them. They wouldn't last, really. Not in the way Steve wants. Not in the way _they_ want.

"Friends?" Iron Man asks hesitantly. Steve nods, blowing a heavy breath out.

"Yeah," he forces out. "Friends."

He doesn't take it personally, so that Iron Man doesn't have to ask him to.

 

~~~  
+1

He should have known. It isn't all that surprising, really. It's a quick realization. No confusion. Maybe a bit of disbelieve, but only over the fact that he should have known. It's painfully obvious.

Tony is Iron Man. He's been Iron Man since the beginning. There never was anyone else.

The two people he's been pining on are the same. Somehow, that doesn't make it any better. At least with Iron Man he always had that sense of 'what if' or 'one day'. Now, everything has shattered. He's back to square one.

And Tony is looking at him with such devastation. He looks so torn, so guilty. He looks overwhelmingly apologetic, and Steve doesn't know what to do with it.

Thor is the first to say something about it, when the battle is over and Tony is left with a battered helmet.

"I do admit I feel a sense of betrayal, but I am pleased that you are the Man of Iron," Thor says sincerely. "My friend, ally, and brother. I forgive you."

"It's great to finally put a face on you," Clint says, and he grimaces. "I can totally see it now. You are Iron Man, aren't you?"

Tony smiles crookedly, spreading his arms. "The one and only."

"I wish I can say I knew all along," Natasha informs, and even Tony looks in disbelief, "but I'd be lying. It's a nice surprise, though. Now I can officially welcome you into the team...Tony." She smirks, but her eyes are so light hearted she doesn't come off as cocky or demeaning; she looks almost playful.

It's Steve's turn now to say something, and they're all looking at him expectantly. Except Tony. He's pretending to examine his helmet, so Steve clears his throat.

"I wish you told me." There's so much more he wants to say. So, so much more than that. But he nods once, in dismissal, and finds his way somewhere else.

  
Later that day he finds himself walking towards Tony's workshop, but he finds him along the way there. They're stopped along the hallway, a smaller space than Steve intended, but they both slow down when they catch sight of the other.

Tony looks at him awkwardly. He doesn't blame him. Once he had time to think about it, he was flushed with embarrassment. Just a few weeks ago he was throwing himself at Iron Man. Who was Tony. Someone he can't have.

But then those words; how Iron Man wanted him too. Was he stringing Steve along? Or did he truly believe he was helping Steve by giving him what he thought he needed?

"I wish I was sorry," Tony says gruffly. Steve's face hardens at that. "But I'm not. I knew what I was doing when I hid my identity. I knew it was better off. But I am sorry that you had to be a part of that lie. I would have preferred not to."

About Iron Man? Or about how you felt? Steve wants to say, but he stubbornly keeps his mouth shut. He doesn't know what to say, yet there's a billion different things going on in his brain. He's a tactical man, though. As much as he wants to talk about that awkward night, he shouldn't. Wouldn't that imply that he wants something out of it? And he shouldn't. Doesn't. So he nods.

"I'm sorry you felt you had to keep it a secret," Steve says.

They both stand there awkwardly, their hands by their sides, unsure of what to do next. Steve's about ready to say goodbye and run off when Tony finally finds the courage to say, "Is it true, then?"

Steve blinks. "What is?"

"That you don't care?" Tony asks, and he gestures to himself. "Now that you know who I am?"

Steve is blank at first, and then he realizes that Tony is talking about _it_. The very thing that they shouldn't be talking about.

He works his jaw. He doesn't know what to say. Everything that comes up seems to sound wrong.

Tony stays perfectly still at first, and after a few seconds of silence, Tony continues hesitantly. "Because—everything I said was true. And, maybe, we shouldn't be talking about this. I deceived you, and I know you need time but...it's really killing me, Steve. I've been waiting for so long and now," he trails off, licking his lips as he tries to find more words. Steve shakes his head.

"No, Tony." The man recoils as if Steve slapped him, which immediately makes him feel guilty. "It's not right. You have to know that."

"What about it?" Tony asks. "Don't—don't give me that crap. If you don't want to be with me just say it. It's because of _me_. Who I am. Using excuses like 'it's wrong' is such a coward move for you."

"I watched you grow up," Steve says in defense. "I was friends with your parents. I'm as _old_ as your parents. My wife died not even five years ago. Of course it's wrong, Tony. Giving in to you would be—" _such a sin_ , he wants to finish, but he cuts himself off. He's done worse, but for whatever reason Tony is the very definition of what he shouldn't have or want.

Tony looks at him dryly. "A month ago you wanted to fuck a piece of armor."

"A month ago I thought I finally found an honest man I could trust," Steve refutes.

"So that's it?" Tony comes closer. "You're not even going to try?"

 _I want to_. Tony looks so attractive. He always has. But every time he looks at his hair, or his eyes, even those hands that taught him how to make origami reminds him of younger Tony. It makes him feel disgusting all over. He feels like a pervert.

"I can't," Steve forces out.

Tony searches his face, and whatever he see's finally makes him back down, but just the slightest. He looks at Steve desperately.

"Then can I please just...can I have one...?" He looks at Steve's eyes, and then at his lips. Steve's heart races, but he stays backed against the wall, and doesn't shove Tony away when he gets even closer.

He closes his eyes once Tony does, and the next moment their lips connect. An innocent peck. Nothing wrong there, right? The pressure makes his lips tingle, and immediately he feels light headed and heavy chested. The only thing running through his mind is that he's kissing Tony. For real. There's no chemicals, no surprises.

Tony slots their mouths together, and Steve helps. They work together, exploring innocently. They both shake, their bodies tense, but they don't stop. One kiss. That's what Tony's asking for. Just one.

When Steve still doesn't sprint away, Tony rests his hands onto Steve's hips, only slightly applying pressure. He gets more confident when Steve lightly touches his elbows, and then Tony is slowly creeping Steve's shirt up until skin is exposed.

Steve jerks at the cold touch, almost aware enough to pull away, but then Tony's massaging his skin, setting sparks and goosebumps. Steve trails his hands up higher, holding onto Tony's biceps. He remembers when he told Iron Man, Tony, that he wanted to touch him. To feel him; kiss him.

He never thought that it'd be better than what he imagined.

His heart swells, because this is Iron Man. This is _Tony_. This is one person but also the two he unwillingly fell head over heels for.

He waits for the disgust to come again. He waits for his senses to come back, he waits to see if he wakes up and barely has this moment remembered as an almost gone dream. It doesn't come.

He indulges. He won't force it to come. He can wait.

He moves his hands up to Tony's hair, and he gives out a very light, breathy moan. He hopes Tony didn't hear it, but that's wishful thinking. He plays with Tony's hair, something he didn't even realize he wanted to do for so long, up until now. His hair is so soft and just a tad bit wavy. And when a flash of Tony as a toddler comes to mind, he only thinks of it fondly, and then pushes it away.

Tony pulls away for a breath, but he breathes and kisses heavily along Steve's jaw, his hands now up to Steve's shoulder blades, his shirt tugged halfway up his torso.

They must be quite the sight.

"Wait," Steve breathes out. Tony kisses wetly along his neck, obviously savoring and prolonging the moment. "Wait, wait, wait."

Tony reluctantly stops, but he holds Steve tight, his hands clenching onto Steve's shoulders, and he releases puffs of warm air onto Steve's skin as he finally waits.

Steve wants to swallow his tongue.

"We shouldn't," he starts, and Tony shakes his head. He doesn't interrupt Steve, but he gives a light kiss to his collarbone, so Steve wills himself to finish with, "Not here." It's part of what he means, that's for sure. Tony can interpret it however he wants.

Tony keeps still, and then slowly nods. "My rooms closer."

Steve sucks in a breath, a little terrified now. "I didn't mean—"

"I know," Tony says, lifting his head. He kisses Steve passionately, and Steve looses what he wanted to say. "We don't have to," he murmurs against his lips, but he tugs Steve along, walking backwards and somehow guiding Steve.

They don't let go of each other until they reach Tony's bedroom. Steve presses him against the door, and hates himself just a little when he forces a thigh in between Tony's legs. Tony moans at that, and then he opens the door behind him. They tumble inside, Tony quickly closing it and looking at Steve expectantly.

"We won't do anything you don't want to," Tony says, pulling Steve close to him. Steve nods and lets Tony capture his mouth again.

He feels like such a child, having Tony tiptoe around him like that. He knows that he's terrified, and at any moment he can freak out and leave, but having Tony like this? It's addicting. Everything he wasn't sure he wanted is now something he needs.

Tony tugs at Steve's shirt, and Steve takes it off. Tony quickly latches himself onto him, caressing every bit of skin he can. He kisses around Steve's chest and along his collarbone, mumbling nonsense.

"Yes," Tony mumbles around kisses. Steve shives when Tony uses his nails to scratch down Steve's back. "You're so hot. Wanted to do this since I was fifteen."

Steve flinches, but doesn't push him away. Tony meets his lips again. "Don't worry," he says against them, "I'm not fifteen anymore."

"I know," Steve mumbles back, his eyes closed as he gets lost in the feel of Tony against him. He decides he loves the way Tony's beard and mustache feel against his face.

He finds the courage to work his way to Tony's waist, riding his shirt up to touch the warm skin underneath. Tony stretches into him, giving light moans of encouragement. He travels higher, braver, up until he reaches Tony's chest. Tony violently wrenches away, and Steve jumps back in surprise.

"I'm sorry," Steve immediately says, embarrassment and disgust rising up. Tony is quick to shake his head.

"No, no, it's." He huffs, and he pulls his shirt over him. He has two shirts on, and an undershirt, and Steve barely can think why before he see's it.

It's part of the suit. Part of the Iron Man suit. The thing that powers it. The chest plate. Iron Man never mentioned that it was a part of him.

"That's—" Steve says, and Tony nods.

"It's an arc reactor," Tony explains. He shrugs his shoulders. "It's ugly, but. Keeps me alive."

"Alive?" Steve asks, and Lord Jesus. How much does Steve not know?

Tony ponders. "How about I tell you the whole story later?" He hooks his thumbs into his jeans belt loops, looking sexier than ever. Steve suddenly sits down onto the bed behind him, reluctant.

Tony walks over, and bends down to peck Steve on the lips. "We don't have to do anything," he whispers again, and Steve huffs in irritation.

"I'm aware," he says, and Tony's body shakes in laughter. It makes Steve smile despite himself.

Tony pecks him again, and again, and again, until he sits on Steve's lap and wraps his arms around his neck. Steve's body flares with heat when Tony runs his fingers through the back of Steve's head. He leans and rests his forehead onto Steve's.

"It'd probably be easier if—" Tony swallows, his voice a whisper. "—I weren't tempting you. Am I tempting you?"

"Yes," Steve says back, but he places his hands onto the small of Tony's back. Tony grows stiff.

"Should I stop?"

Steve drops his head onto Tony's shoulder. "...no." It can't be his fault if Tony really wants it, right? He's only human, and God happened to have made the Devil so much stronger than any man.

Tony shifts, and then he ruts, slowly grinding his hips in small circles. Steve kisses his neck, and Tony quivers, tilting his head to the side for better access.

It's a blur of kisses and sparks and more clothes coming off. A blur of skin on skin and waves of pleasure before Steve finds himself desperately thrusting himself against Tony's cock, both of them slicked with sweat and Tony encouraging him with words of filth.

"Fuck," Tony moans loudly, trying to catch his breath. Steve covers Tony's body with hickeys as he finds his way closer to climax.

Tony grabs his face, pulling him into a kiss, still moaning. Steve never had anyone so damn responsive.

"Hope you can fuck me one day," Tony says into his mouth, his pitch higher than usual. "Properly." They're barely kissing now, breathing into the others mouth instead. Tony moans louder, and another wave of pleasure courses through Steve's body. "Have you open me up," Tony moans. "Stretch me out. Cum in me."

Steve makes a small noise, sweat beading down now. Tony huffs out a laugh. "That's it, come on, Steve. Been dreaming of you fucking me since I turned eighteen."

Steve moans at that, and then he roughly lifts Tony's hips, and slides his dick down further, spreading Tony's legs to fit in between Tony's cheeks. It's an awful tease, but he finally cums, his pace brutal. Tony groans, and Steve calms himself by keeping his hands at the back of Tony's knees, slowly rocking back and forth.

Tony grabs himself, jerking off until he finishes with a cut off moan and a blissed expression.

They settle down, and Steve lets go of Tony to slump down next to him. They take time to catch their breath. Mostly Tony, though. After a minute Steve regains his composure, and he looks at Tony. Really looks at him. To see if he's okay.

A few minutes later, Tony looks back, breathing through his nose. It's still a little heavy, but not by much.

"Do you regret it yet?" He asks, his voice a little gruff. Steve's heart jumps, but he finds that he doesn't. Not yet.

"No," he says a moment later, and Tony looks back at the ceiling, sighing.

"You can stay here with me. If you want." Tony has his eyes closed, and when Steve looks down at his chest, he can tell that he's breathing harder again. He's nervous. "Leave in the morning. Never talk about it." He turns around, his whole body facing Steve. In return, Steve looks at the ceiling. "Or we can do it again. Doesn't have to mean anything."

Steve shakes his head. "I don't use people like that."

"Then what will it be?" Tony asks, urgent yet hesitant.

Steve tries to think, to weigh the pro's and con's, to properly assess the situation, but all he finds in himself is exhaustion. He wants sleep.

"I don't know."

It's quiet. They both don't talk. They only lie there, spunk and sweat drying. Naked. The sheets are rumpled, but neither one is underneath the blankets.

Seconds, minutes, maybe even hours later, Tony whispers.

"Have you ever thought that...maybe, things happen for a reason? Us, here, now? A purpose?"

Steve closes his eyes. He doesn't answer.

Tony turns to his other side, back facing Steve. He opens his eyes, and he turns to wrap an arm around Tony's waist. He spoons him, and then he kisses the top of his head.

Tony physically relaxes, and then he yawns. "You should."

A moment later, he's sleeping. Steve holds onto him, and even only after a couple of seconds, he knows that he'd never be able to sleep again without Tony in his arms. He even finds that he enjoys the way the arc reactor casts a beautiful blue light into the dark. 

"I do now," he says to him, and then he falls asleep.

 

**Author's Note:**

> And then they live happily ever after and grow old together THE END!!!!!!
> 
> Did anyone catch that little Hunchback of Notredam reference? That little lyric towards the end?? The Devil so much stronger than a maaaaaaaaaannnn ahahaha (omg listen to the female version of Hellfire by annapantsu on YouTube it is so flipping GOOD!!!)
> 
> Alllllll comments, kudos, love, whatever is accepted. 
> 
> (I'm still finding my way around this website, so idk what else there is)
> 
> Sorry if there are any mistakes that make the reading a bit awkward (God I hate reading something and there's that one damn mistake that just ruins the freaking moment) but I write and mayyybe edit if I feel up to it by myself so feel free to point them out I guess? 
> 
> Anyhow, I honestly just hope you enjoyed. Bye!!!


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